


A Wat's Tale

by MultiVerSonalityDisorder



Category: A Knight's Tale (2001)
Genre: A Wat's Tale, Action, Comedy, F/M, Post-Film, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3413756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MultiVerSonalityDisorder/pseuds/MultiVerSonalityDisorder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after the championship, everyone's lives are falling into place. Or, are they? WatXOC, RolandXChristiana Rated OT/16</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Man's Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there everyone! This is my first A Knight's Tale fic, so let me know how you think I'm doing with the characters and whatnot! I do my best to keep them IC. I own nothing and no one save for the OC, Viola.
> 
> Please Read and Review!

Six months had passed since William Thatcher was knighted. Since his coveted defeat over Adhemar. Since he and Lady Jocelyn took hands. At this time, Kate was doing well with her new forge, Wat had opened his own tavern, Chaucer had come and gone through his travels with his writing going outlandishly well, and Roland was making merry with Christiana while living as simply as he could.

It was evening at the tavern, a light pepper of snow settling outside with much appreciation. There was boisterous laughter, joyous calls of life as the candles burned, and bellowed songs filled the air. For our heroes, it was a night of celebration as Chaucer had once more decided to pass through and visit his dear friends. Roland had been visiting Wat; always amused to see the man behind the bar and interact with the rowdiest customers; as Christiana had been in need of being strapped to her lady’s side. Jocelyn was at this time with child, and William was fearful to leave for a second. So, when Chaucer stepped in, the remaining two were nothing less than elated to see his face. Roland gave him a sturdy pat to the back as Wat climbed over the bar to grab the blonde man into a headlock and digging his fist into Chaucer’s scalp. Calming, Wat joined the others on the open-side of his bar, leaning back against it with his elbows resting atop, grinning with such tranquil peace it resembled a blissful idiot.

"And, what of Kate?" Chaucer inquired as his eyes scanned the floor noticing that she was also absent.

"Aye, you’d have to ask that one," Roland jabbed a finger at Wat who glared with a set jaw. "She won’t step foot in ‘ere."

The fiery-haired man shook his head, “Nope. I refuse ta talk ‘bout ‘t even one more time. Ya ‘ear me? Not a peep.”

Chaucer rolled his eyes, knowing that all he had to do was invite a night of drinking and Wat wouldn’t be able to stop himself from repeating the story over and over. And, so, he changed the subject, “Well, you two look like you’re doing well, at least. It never ceases to amaze me whenever I see you out of that old squire attire and into such fine tunics.”

"Don’t fall in love now, Chaucer," Wat chuckled, giving his nose a quick rub. "Roland’s got ‘imself tied up, pretty much."

"Wat," the other scowled, but it only encouraged laughter.

"Come on, Roland, it’s been long ‘nough, donthca think?"

With a heavy-hearted sigh, Chaucer placed a hand over his heart and shook his head, “It seems that even to this day Wat knows nothing of romance.”

“‘ey!” the one in question gave the tall man a punch in the arm. “I know plenty. I bed ‘em well.”

"You prove my point, exactly."

Confused, Wat rose a brow, but Roland was the one to speak, “Romance and bedding aren’t always the same, Wat. ‘sides, when was the last time you  _did_  bed a gorgeous love?”

"Don’t give him too much credit by adding ‘gorgeous’ in that sentence."

Gnawing on the inside of his bottom lip, red brows furrowed in thought. He was trying to do it quickly, but in reality Wat was having sincere trouble. Once William won the championship, by association, Wat was rewarded with a small amount of popularity that even surprised himself. But, it had still been at least three months since he’d been between a woman’s thighs. “Er…just last Sunday,” he fibbed; not at all convincing his friends who said nothing of it.

"All right then, Mr. Tavern Keeper," Chaucer’s pristine blue eyes glanced about the sea of meat that was man, a chuckle at the corners of his lips as he hummed aloud. "I’d like you to show me where your talents lie. Bed the girl I assign to you, and I’ll concede that you are an expert in the throes of passion so named ‘Romance’."

Frowning, Wat hated those huge words that Geoffrey Chaucer was enamored with, but he knew it was a challenge and he was never one to back away from a challenge even if he wasn’t entirely sure what it was; he had an idea, though. “Do yer worst,” Wat grumbled.

“‘ow about ‘er?” Roland gestured out to the far left.

"Her?" Chaucer guessed.

"Not that one. ‘er!"

"Oh! The one in the far back?"

"Yeah, that’s the one."

"All right," Chaucer clapped his hands, beaming his teeth with a glow in his heart. "Wat," he grabbed hold of his friend’s shoulders, placing his cheek against his as he pointed towards the back left corner of the tavern. "Do you see her?"

The first thing that caught Wat’s eye was not the girl, but the man at the center of the table where she sat. His name was Felix Smethwyck and he was a large and burly man. His hair dark like the night and eyes beady in similarity to a rat’s. He was touched by the sun from his work in the outdoor labor, and his was a mean drunk. He had more than his fair share of virgins and to make matters worse, not only was the girl that Roland and Geoff were speaking of sitting at his table that was full of his sheep and doe, she was sitting right next to him.

Wat felt a dry lump slide down his throat as he tried to swallow the saliva that hadn’t accumulated in his mouth. He looked to his friends, then back to the girl. Her skin was fair, hair past her shoulders in wheat-coloured waves. Her eyes were a bright olive with laughter and her narrow shoulders shook from her chuckles as her gaze was glued to Felix.

"Right, then," Wat nodded once in the affirmative, mostly to encourage himself to step forward and if it were not for the bruising slap that Chaucer gave his back, he might have stayed fastened to the bar. He couldn’t dare look back to his friends even once as he made his way through the ocean stench; alcohol, sweat, and other gases that excreted from the human body. However, he paused momentarily halfway through when her eyes slipped from Felix to Wat. Her line of vision met with his and his heart skipped just a beat. She smiled, whispering something to Felix who waved his hand arbitrarily, not even paying attention as he continued with whatever story he was telling, chunks of food slipping from his mouth as he chattered away. His feet shuffling through, Wat almost couldn’t believe it when he noticed that not only was she leaving that terrifying man’s side, but also making her way to meet him. His mouth hung open just a tad as he halted, she bouncing up to him with a petite smile, looking up at him with roundish cheeks that seemed to shine like honey.

"Good evenin’," she spoke, voice in the alto range but soft as her skin appeared to be.

"Ah, uhm, oh," Wat rubbed the back of his neck, "G-Good evenin’ miss."

She pointed towards the ceiling, she was fidgeting side to side, other hand gripping her dusted green skirt, “Yer tha owner?” Wat couldn’t find a word as he was still stunned, so he settled for a nod. She giggled, and it tickled his ears. She took hold of his hand, his whole one big enough to completely encase hers, “Follow me.” He made no argument and allowed himself to be pulled out the door of his own tavern.

"Well, fancy that," Chaucer huffed, crossing his arms as his face contorted with bepuzzlement.

"To think it really was that easy," Roland shook his head. "God willing, I s’pose."

"God willing, indeed."

Stepping outside was an immediate reminder to Wat that soon he would need to remember his coat. As a child he toughed it out through many freezing winters, and just the start of one was just a nice breeze on his skin, but he looked to the young woman, a tad worried on how she would be fairing. She was, or at least appeared to be, fine. Her grin still clinging to the corners of her mouth, her hand in his, but fingertips chilled. He unconsciously rubbed them as they walked through the near-empty streets as the dark was settling in.

"Could I," his voice cracked, he cleared his throat sheepishly but her eyes were on him so he straightened his back upright, "Could a ‘umble man like m’self ask fer yer name?"

"Viola," she lowered her head, cheeks gaining a rosy colour. "And, yours?"

"Wat," he blurted.

Her head shot up and catching his eyes, she laughed, “Peculiar.” She reached up with her free hand, making him flinch as she touched his chin, grip gentle and fingers somewhat teasing at his bristles. “Such red ‘air.”

He gulped, “A curse, red is.”

Her fingers hovered over his lips and his words ceased. Her eyes were calm, yet there was something ensnaring Wat as they seemed to be boring into his. He felt a heat in his cheeks, and a tad in his loins. “I love the colour red,” she whispered. “Red ‘air is mah favorite.”

"R-Really?" his brows rose.

She nodded, retracting her hand, “It’s very beautiful.”

Her grip on his hand tightened as they regained their pace, and Wat found himself trying to clear his throat before he inquired to her, “So, what brought ya ta Le Astre?” Wat wasn’t keen on his tavern being named with something French, but Chaucer insisted that it would give it some class and would make even the lowest status mongrel feel high class just for saying the name.

"My brother."

At that, Wat paused in his steps. He looked around his shoulders and sure enough they were alone on the dark streets, barely illuminated by the street lights. “Yer brother?” he kept his eyes aware.

Viola chuckled, patting Wat’s shoulder, “‘e won’t bother us. ‘e’s too busy entertainin’ ‘is friends an’ those women in the tavern.” Wat looked to her, a little relieved, and she pushed on, “‘e’s a regular, ya know. So, I says ta ‘im that tonight I’d be joinin’. ‘e wasn’t too ‘appy, but I wanted ta see what all the fuss was about.”

"An’, what do ya think?"

"I’ve still got me suspicions, but I’m startin’ to think it was worth it."

There was a bubbling in Wat’s chest and he tried not to grin like an idiot as he released a wheeze of a laugh. But, there was something that was still bothering him a bit, “So, uh, who is this brother o’ yers?”

"Felix Smethwyck."

Once again, Wat found himself at a pause in their travels. His eyes were wide and mouth agape. “Felix?” he coughed out. The man was large, huge, he could break every bone in Wat’s body should he wish. Wat was a fighter indeed, and there were times he could bring down opponents twice his size, but Felix was not just strong and built well, the man was insane on the drink.

Again, her hand tightened about his, she looked up at him with eyes that were sincerely apologetic, “I-I know ‘e’s not entirely the gentlest, but ‘e wouldn’t be so bothered with anythin’ that concerns me. I’m an adult an’ ‘e respects that.” Her free hand overlapped Wat’s, fingers stroking his calloused knuckles, “Please understand that ‘e ‘as nothin’ to do with anythin’.”

It was hard as Wat’s brain buzzed about. He was slightly panicked at the thought of Felix finding any reason to throw his humongous fist in his direction, but then there was Viola herself. There was something about her that tickled his fancy. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed to be looking at him before he even noticed her in the room. It was a flattering feeling for he wasn’t anything like Will or Geoff who were no doubt handsome from head to toe. She was honestly holding onto his hand, fingers intertwined and the two were just idly passing through the street going back and forth with their words. Wat hadn’t merely held hands with a girl since he was a lad, and it was a refreshing feeling.

"Could I, erm," he paused as she looked up at him, still seeming worried about the conversation of her brother. "Yer…I’d like ta…with…lips…"

Her cheeks gained a bit of pink, her nose scrunching up as she smiled. She didn’t say a word as she placed both of her hands against his shoulders, his own hands loosely grabbing her elbows as she popped onto her tiptoes and gently pecked his rough dry lips with her own soft ones. She pulled back momentarily before he slipped one of his hands up her back, to her neck and caressing her cheek; so soft. Gingerly grasping the back of her skull, he pulled her into another kiss, leaning down to meet her, his free arm snaking around her waist to pull their abdomens tight together, and he could feel her petite breasts against his broad chest, and his heart was all aflutter.

When they pulled back, Wat was pleased to see that she was just as breathless as he was. He grinned with loose lips, rubbing her shoulders, “Viola.”

"Hm?"

"Would ya…come back with me? Ta the tavern?"

"Oh, Wat…" she sighed, and he felt a shiver crawl up and down his spine at the sound of his name. "Not…tonight…"

"Why not?" he chuckled, holding her close to him and swaying his hips a bit with half-lidded eyes.

She placed a hand to his cheek, still smiling despite shaking her head, “I greatly enjoy yer company, Wat. An’, so, I don’t want ta rush anythin’. If ya understand…”

The cold was finally settling into Wat’s bones as he was slowly sobering with her words. Tonight, Wat would not be taking this girl to bed. He was a bit disappointed, but there was something else that drove him with some sort of optimism. Despite this starting out as a challenge to take this young woman, a part of him really wanted her to like him. So, he wouldn’t push it.

"I understand," he nodded before placing a quick kiss to her cheek, eyes glowing from the reflection of the street lamps. "I’ll walk ya ‘ome, then."

"I’d like that," her grin took half of her face. "I’d like that very much."

**To Be Continued…**


	2. Wager

Wat was silent when he returned to his tavern alone. Chaucer and Roland poked and prodded the subject of the young woman, but received nothing from the red-haired man. When the tavern was set to close, and the last of the drunkards that were dead to the world thrown on their asses, Wat found himself bombarded as he set to work on picking up the filth from the tables.

“C’mon, man, tell us,” Roland urged. “Y’can’t go on ‘n on, leave wit the girl, ‘n expect us not to wonder.”

“I’m in agreeance with Roland,” Geoff tipped his chin up. “Strongly.”

Glancing up at his friends as he rounded the corners of the tables, picking up abandoned dishes, his lips tugged upwards in a half-smile as he shrugged, “Her name’s Viola.”

“And?”

Frowning at both men, Wat shrugged once more, “I walked her ‘ome.”

“ _And?_ ”

Heaving a sigh, Wat shook his head as he walked back to the counter, passed it, and into his kitchen, “I didn’t bed ‘er.”

Smile alighting his features, Chaucer’s brows shot up as his voice held back a giggle, “You didn’t bed the young woman?”

“ _Viola_ ,” Wat corrected with a stern gaze, turning to glare at the two tailing him before quickly setting the dirty dishes in a pile in the corner of the room; along with the pots and pans that were used to cook everything that night.

“Yes, yes, Viola,” Geoff waved a hand dismissively. “You said you didn’t have your manly way with her?”

“No,” the tavern owner puffed out his chest, hands on his hips as he looked to Roland, then the writer. “I didn’t.” When a silence fell upon the trio, Wat inhaled as he straightened his back, blurting, “We kissed.”

“Kissed?” Roland allowed his head to drop, eyes gazing on in disbelief. “That’s all?”

Cheeks gaining the color of his hair, Wat pushed, “I asked fer one ‘n she gave it t’me.”

“So, you didn’t ask her to bed, is that it?” Chaucer suggested.

“Well,” Wat shuffled his feet, “I didn’t exactly…say those words, but…she said she didn’t want ta.”

“She rejected your advances, then.”

Crossing his arms, Wat’s jaw was stern, “She wants t’see me, ‘gain.”

“See, Wat, either way, y’lost the wager,” Roland sighed. “Admit it.”

Nose crinkling in disdain, the copper colored man huffed, “All right, I admit it. I lost the wager, but it doesn’t matter t’me. I dun care. Not in th’least. Because, well, because I think she likes me. ‘N, I maybe, might like ‘er, too.”

**To Be Continued...!**


	3. And, If She Returns

“Wat? In love?” William spoke with astonishment as he and Chaucer were taking a walk about the courtyard of the palace. Prince Edward had some business he needed tending to with William’s assistance, and William had sent word to Chaucer to meet him at the gates. The two embraced and as William waited for Prince Edward’s availability to fall into his favor, the two discussed how everything had been for themselves. Chaucer quickly congratulated William on the news of Jocelyn being with child, and William was just as quick to congratulate the writer on his success with his works. When the talk fell to their friends, Chaucer explained how two nights prior Wat had met this girl, Viola, and that the dull man had appeared to be fixated on her.

However, Chaucer’s nose fell as his eyes kept forward, hands behind his back as he kept his steps in tune with Will’s, the sun shining on them as they paced about, “Well, I wouldn’t say ‘in love’. More so that he’s intrigued by her, I believe.”

“And, this daring young woman just waltzed up to him?”

“Yes. It was strange, but she was the one who approached him. He never stops talking about her.”

“And, what has Roland to say about this?”

Chaucer shrugged, “He doesn’t say much. He doesn’t seem worried either. Are you?”

“I’m not ‘worried’, per say, but I might be bothered.”

“What for? Is it unusual for Wat to be immersed in a woman?”

William shook his head, finding a stone bench to sit on and placing a knee atop it as he stilled his path, “It’s not. I’m happy for him, I truly am. He’s my best friend, but I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“She wasn’t at the tavern last night,” the writer hummed in thought. “But, he hasn’t given up hope on seeing her again.”

“I am bewildered at how he wasn’t upset that she didn’t want to go to bed with him. Even if he was genuinely keen on a girl, he would always throw a tantrum, or say nothing at all. He’s not one to boast over a kiss.”

“Would you be willing to come to the tavern tonight, if you are free?” Geoff suggested. “I know you’ve been fretting over Lady Jocelyn, and you are waiting on Prince Edward, but would you feel better if you met this girl?”

“Perhaps, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving Jocelyn, and if his majesty needs me…”

Geoff placed a hand to the knight’s shoulder, giving a soft smile of support as he spoke in a hushed tone, “Come if you can. If she makes an appearance within the next two nights, I’ll send word. If she returns, I’m sure she’s fine for our friend.”

With an anxious smile, William gave a nod of his head and a sigh, “Yes. You’re right. Thank you.”

* * *

It was another evening at Le Astre and the usual crowd was as boisterous as ever. Robert, a cook that Wat was able to hire, was hard at work in the kitchen. He was a handful of years younger than his boss, short brown curls and brown eyes, he was thin and gawky, with very little meat or muscle to his appearance. Wat had found him covered in bruises a month back, lying in the middle of the street at night, curled up and sniveling in his own blood. Wat hadn’t asked for the details, but the result was that he took on Robert for his mediocre cooking skills that put Wat’s to shame, and in turn the boy was given a room, food, and clothing with a very small wage. Wat told him to save up. Don’t spend a single coin until he was able to survive on his own.

“Robert! I need ‘alf a dozen mutton pies!” Wat shouted through the door.

“’alf a dozen?!” the young man squeaked, eyes bulging at the prospect. “Why so many?!”

“Jus’ d’it!”

“I thought I told you to play nice with poor Robert,” a soft voice sighed.

Spine growing rigid, Wat closed the kitchen door and half-scowled as he turned to see that across the bar was Kate; Roland and Geoff on either side of her with grins on their faces. Wat rolled his eyes, heading to the spouts to fetch some ale for his new order. “What’re ya doin’ ‘ere, Kate?” was the snip of a response that the copper-haired man could afford to grind out.

“I wanted t’check in on ya, Master Wat,” her tone mocked him, but he said nothing as he focused on his work. “Heard ya got yerself a girl.”

With a heavy sigh, Wat filled up three glasses before spinning around abruptly. “I ain’t got m’self nuthin’! ‘sides, what’s it to you?!

“Come off it, Wat,” Roland frowned. “We jus’ told Kate what’s been going on wit’ you. She jus’ wanted t’check in on ya, is all.”

“Please, Roland,” she placed a hand on the man’s shoulder with a half-smile, “I can speak for m’self. Thank you.” She turned back to Wat who was balancing six ales in his hands and arms. “They said she ditched ya, ‘n I wanted t’see how th’tavern was holdin' up if y’were in a mess.”

“Well, I ain’t,” Wat bit. “I wasn’t ditched, neither, so-Viola!”

The trio turned and noticed at the door was the very young woman who approached their friend the other night. Her eyes scanned the room and Wat observed her with bated breath, jaw hanging as if he was afraid to move even a centimeter; as if doing so would distort this reality and she would vanish. She smiled when she found her target, running up to Felix who was once more the center of attention at his own table. She embraced her brother from behind, him reaching up with a tremendous holler and grin, placing a kiss to her cheek as she leaned forward to do the same to him.

Kate gaped, brows rising as she tried to blink away the scene. However, it refused to leave and she turned to Wat who still stood in his trance. She snarled, “Felix’s little sister?! How daft _are_ you?!”

**To Be Continued...!**


	4. True Infatuation

There was no immediate response from Wat, and Kate groaned. She lightly tapped his chin from below, and he flinched, eyes blinking rapidly before he glowered. “What was that for?” he huffed.

“You’re drooling,” she rolled her eyes. “What sort of idjit sets his eyes on Viola Smethwyck?”

His scowl grew, “What’s so wrong ‘bout it?”

“Her brother is the problem.”

“She can’t ‘elp who ‘er family is,” Wat took what he had in his grasp around the counter. His eyes scanned the area for the group that had recently sat themselves down, leaving the other three at the stools and glancing to each other nervously.

Chaucer spoke softly, “In a way, he’s right, Kate. He shouldn’t ignore the poor girl because of who her older brother is.”

“A man with a temper,” Roland interjected, leaning in as his eyes kept to Wat’s back. “A nasty temper, ‘nd plenty o’men gone missin’ after interactin’ with’im. Most of ‘em potential suitors for ‘is sister.”

“Exaggeration.”

“Not in the least,” Kate’s eyes were narrowed. “You haven’t been in London much with your travels, Geoff, but this man is not one for jesting unless he’s the one doing so. Is that clear?”

“Clearly outrageous,” Chaucer huffed, sitting up with a stern chin. He scoffed, “Boorish.”

Suddenly, they fell silent and stiffened with widened eyes when just as Wat had finished dropping off the ales with some light talk with the men he was serving; they looked as if they were from out of town and Wat may have been trying to convince them to stay for the night; Viola had tapped him on the shoulder from behind, gaining his attention and a bright beaming grin. He took her hands into his, and his lips moved at an alarming speed.

Roland sighed, “He’s smitten.”

“Completely,” Kate shook her head.

“Truly,” Chaucer added, back slouching a bit. Then, he straightened once more, quickly, as a brow rose, “Hold on. If Felix is so concerned over his sister, how is it that he’s idly standing by while she is blatantly displaying her intentions towards Wat to the entire tavern?”

Kate snorted, “That man and Wat are in competition to see who is more senseless. He’s self-absorbed, and so long as he has a crowd around him, he won’t pay a bit of attention to Viola. Unless he’s standing in front of them with their arms about each other or Wat saying the right words, Wat will be fine.”

“Y’know, I think you give Wat too little credit, Kate,” Roland hummed aloud. “He knows the dangers that come with Felix Smethwyck. He wouldn’t be dumb enough to let ‘imself get carried away like that.”

“One could only hope, Roland.”

Curiosity was piqued once more when it was taken into account that Wat had whispered something into Viola’s ear. The two were smiling, his eyes on her, from her own to her lips then back. They exchanged a few words, and she turned with a skip in her step to return to her brother’s side. Wat made his way back to the counter, lips curved and cheeks rosy even when he looked to the trio of friends with an inquisitive brow.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

There was a collective “no” as each of them shook their heads. It was then that the door flew open from the kitchen and Robert stuck his head out with an exhausted smile, “Boss, the pies.”

“Oh! Right! Thank ya, Robert,” the owner scuttled over, Robert handing him three and together the two walked out to the table of travelers.

* * *

When the night reigned over the city of London, the Tavern was empty save for Wat and Chaucer. The copper-tinted man seemed puzzled as he bid Robert a good night-the young man making his way up to his room-and turned to his writer friend who was idly lounging at the bar.

“Where’d Roland ‘n Kate run off to?”

“Kate had to get back to her forge, and Roland mentioned something to do with Christiana.”

“You didn’t leave, though.”

“No, I did not.”

“Why not?”

A smirk slithered itself onto the blonde’s lips. His bright eyes twinkling as he slipped off the stool. He wrapped an arm about Wat’s shoulders and hummed, “I thought that if I was patient you could introduce me to this Viola you have your eyes on."

“This late?”

“She’s coming back, isn’t she?” When Wat stiffened at having been found out, Geoffrey didn’t miss the chance to release a light chuckle, hand ruffling his friend’s fiery hair. “Come on, friend. Lean on me, be reliant, as I am an ally not foe.”

“Okay! Okay! Okay!” Wat huffed, shoving the man away and hands going up self-consciously to “fix” his hair. “Y’can meet ‘er! Jus’ don’t…don’t say nuthin’ y’shouldn’t.”

“Are you planning to bed her tonight?”

“That wager is ova,” arms crossed in front of a puffed out chest, frown tugging at thin lips as brows furrowed. “She said sh’wanted to wait. So I wait.”

“Good lad!” Chaucer clapped his hands together with a grin. “Now you’re starting to understand ‘romance’.”

Wat rolled his eyes just as a light and tentative knock rapped at the back doors of the tavern. Instantly, the owner’s head spun in the direction of the kitchen, as he had left the door open so he could hear her arrival. His footsteps were quick and when Chaucer meant to shadow at his heels, he was sternly ordered to stay put. Hands up defensively, he struggled to keep a teasing smile off his lips as he sat back down at the bar.

There was another knock, and Wat reached out, his hand flying faster than his feet could carry him. He almost tripped over his toes when he grabbed hold of the handle, flipping the latch away so he could open the door and with tickled pink ears, he bit his lip at the appearance of Viola wrapped in rags to keep her even the slightest bit warm from the snow outside.

Her eyes were twinkling, his voice was gone, and his heart nearly stopped.

**To Be Continued...**


End file.
